Deed and Domination
by Batwynn
Summary: Loki was unhappy, and his kingdom was suffering. He needed release, some company to aid his stressed body and mind. A personal slave to fulfill his desires. What he did not expect to get was an old friend, not seen for many years. Who could have known Anthony Stark had been sold into slavery? [Sexual slavery implied. Loki does not partake in any dubcon. Jotunheim/Asgard AU]
1. To Please a King is to Please the Land

_A kingdom can not be ruled well with an unhappy king._

A wise man once told him this, and Loki was inclined to believe it.

Loki was unhappy, and the kingdom was suffering. Perhaps not due to his mood, but rather due to a crazed mage on a rampage of magic user was ruining villages, killing the livestock, and even stealing clothing from his people's homes. As far as revenges go, it was an odd one. Loki caught himself wondering long into the night of why he didn't attack him personally, but went for the innocents in the lesser villages instead. If by revenge, he meant to frustrate the king so much that his stomach bled, then he was well on his way to making it happen.

What Loki needed was a break, and that was something a king was not allowed. What he_ really_ needed was something to stimulate his body and his mind, if possible. Those needs could be satisfied by so very few, and had to be satisfied well. Intelligent conversation was just as dire as his body's cravings for touch of flesh. If he could not find a break between the petty revenge and running this realm, he would at least have that. It had been a while since he had found someone to fulfill this role in his life. Too long, in fact.

"Anifein, find me a slave once more. You did well, last time, in finding what I need," Loki commanded his trusted aid.

"As you wish, your majesty," Anifein said with a bow, "I assume you mean to slake the same thirst as before, sire?"

"You assume correctly. Be quick about it," he paused and glanced at the hall around him before adding, "and be discrete."

"As always, my lord."

"Good. Now go. I hope to have them by tomorrow night, at the latest."

The man bowed lower and scampered from the room with an eagerness Loki was pleased to see. He knew what was in store for him if he failed his king. It was not pleasant, and it was not quick.

Loki smiled to himself and lounged on his frozen throne, draping his long legs over the side and leaning his head back to relax. Being king was glorious and all, but he did miss the days of old. His childhood, spent with his few more precious friends. Thor still found his way to Jotunheim when he wasn't off fighting some rock troll or another. The thunderer's mother, the lovely Lady Frigga came more often than he. Loki welcomed her with a warmth he rarely showed his own people, which she always found time to chastised him for.

He couldn't help that he was a cold king. One could say it was in his blood. His father, King Laufey, was a calculating king. Right up until his untimely death that threw the realm into a state of confusion and destruction. Loki had been away when it happened, only to be forced back to take the empty throne as his.

Loki sighed and closed his eyes against the high, arched ceiling above him. Remembering his childhood always spoiled his mood. He had long since lost contact with all of his friends. The strongest ache was for the loss of Anthony Stark. After he and his mother moved away from Asgard, Loki never heard from him again. He realized, too late, that of all his friends on Asgard, Anthony had always been his had played together the most, often ending the day covered in scratches, mud, and gods know what else.

Loki's foot began to bounce to an old song in his head. It was something Anthony always sang when they roamed the gardens together. He frowned when he realized he could no longer remember the words, just the tune. With a frustrated sigh, Loki stood from his throne and cast an irritated gaze across the room. No one was in sight and the castle was quiet, just how he liked it. It was late, he decided, and left by way of a hidden side door. Tonight would be his final night alone before he would have his desired company. He found himself humming the tune, yet again, as he climbed through one of the many secret paths to the royal rooms. It was strange what came back to you so suddenly, without precedence. Loki shrugged away all further nostalgia and threw himself into his cold bed. One more night, just one, and he would no longer be alone.

* * *

><p>By mid-morning, Loki had already forgotten his request for a slave. A blight had stricken several towns almost overnight, sending many panicked village leaders to his castle to beg for assistance. Their grain had suffered a heavy loss, and several villages lost some of their animals as well. It was a hectic morning spent between one meeting and the next. By the time he had finally gotten a break, breakfast had came and went, along with lunch.<p>

"My lord, would you like to rest a while before we make a decision?"

Loki swore internally at the councilor. The king made the decisions, there was no 'we'. This lackluster gathering of old men who thought they had control over the kingdom was simply a show. All they did was slow the process down, and steal from his people. He knew at least one of them was, he had yet to find out who. Once he did, there would be an fine example made out of him. Perhaps Loki would leave his bleeding body in the very chair he sat in now.

"My lord?"

"_Yes_," Loki hissed, throwing himself from his chair. He dismissed the others with a wave of his hand."Go. We reconvene on the hour."

They bowed and scuttled away like brainless mice while Loki headed for his throne. He had grown accustomed to it, like an old fur, worn and falling apart over time. It was a place he could think, and relax, regardless of the history and its own ghosts. He cared not for superstitions, but rather for his own comfort. So, to the throne it was.

He had just settled in, draped across in his usual cat-like pose, when his confidant snuck into the room and cleared his throat suddenly.

"Sire?"

"This had better be _extremely_ important, Anifein," Loki growled, not bothering to look away from the nails he had been lazily inspecting.

"I have brought you your slave, my lord."

"Oh? Did I ask for one?"

Anifein made a small choking noise and went silent. It was the soft clink of a several chains brushing together that caused Loki to turn to face them at last. Behind his aid was a shaggy looking man, barely able to stand under the weight of the metal draped over his body. One large shackle was clasped around his throat, almost hidden completely by his long ratted hair. Loki bit back a hiss of irritation at the red swelling around the man's slave's face was turned to the floor, his eyes hidden completely by more shaggy hair. What Loki could see was something of a beard sticking out from his chin. Beards were not something he typically enjoyed, nor did he expect such a poorly treated slave. Anifein usually used the finer slave traders, the ones who kept them clean and hole until they delivered your product. After that, it was up to you how the slave lived.

"Anifein," he began, his voice heavy with disappointment, "this does not look like something I would want."

"But, Sire... H-he is Anthony Stark of Alfheim, a once respected royal and friend to the court of Asgard. He is a prized slave, as you can see. Many have desired him, and many—"

"Did you say 'Stark'?" Loki interrupted, jerking his body fully around to peer down at the man. "This is Anthony Stark?!"

Both men flinched at his tone, and Loki saw one golden eye peek out at him from behind his hair.

"I am Stark," a low, raspy voice spoke.

Loki stood and walked to the edge of the throne's dais. "Do you remember me, Stark?"

The man tilted his head back more, revealing a well battered face. His lips were split in several places, his eyes heavily shadowed with either bruises or exhaustion. His cheeks were sunken beneath the awkward beard that grew out in odd tuffs. It was not the boy Loki had waved goodbye to all those years ago, it was the face of a ghost.

"I thought I did," the man answered at last, "but I don't think you're him."

"I am Loki. We... We played together as children."

The one golden eye widened slightly at this and the man swayed on his feet. "Loki? It truly is you, then."

"It is the very same," Loki responded, an odd sense of relief flooding his body. "But what _happened_ to you? Did he say Alfheim?"

Anthony cleared his throat, and it was a painful sound to hear. "Indeed, I was in Alfheim before my... removal."

Loki stepped down at last from the throne and approached them. Anifein backed away a little, sensing his lords distress.

"Your removal to where?" Loki asked, one hand hovering near Anthony's face. He wasn't sure where to touch the man that would not hurt him.

"Anywhere and everywhere, it seems," Stark replied. Loki could hear a hint of the humor the Anthony he used to know always had, but the man's face remained blank and shadowed.

There was a clatter of doors opening and the voices of his council echoed from across the hall. Loki snarled at their approach and grabbed Anthony's arm, steering him towards the hidden door. "Take care of them, Anifein."

"I- y-yes sire!"

Loki forced Stark through the door in front of him and shut it quickly. "Here, we must hurry to my chambers. I do not wish to deal with them now and we have much to talk about."

Anthony hissed as Loki gripped his arms again and ducked his head. Loki let go immediately and backed away a little, afraid of hurting him more. "My apologies, Stark. I... In my haste I—"

"S'fine," Stark answered quickly, "it is nothing."

Loki looked him over once more before leading the way down the thin hallways. After many twists and turns, they exited from behind a tapestry that hung directly next to his chambers. He opened the door and ushered the man through it, noting for the first time at how light he felt under his fingers.

Had they not fed him at all? Who treated a supposedly 'highly desired' slave as such?

"How have you come to this, Stark? When last we met, you were one to own slaves, not to be one."

Anthony stood, listing to the side a little, and gazed at the room around them. It was Loki's second chamber, the one he filled with notes and drawings and other useless fascinations. While he waited for his reply, he watched the man's eyes wander across the messy room with fascination. He hadn't the heart to push the question, not after seeing the first sign of life in Anthony thus far.

After another curious sweep of the room, Stark turned and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "So you're king, then? You're doing well."

"Anthony..."

"I know," he interrupted and looked down at his shackles. "You want to know the how and why."

"Let me remove those, at the very least," Loki said, stepping forward.

"You don't have to..."

Loki growled and took the man's hands in his carefully, touching the shackles with just his finger tips. The metal snapped and fell away, dragging the connecting chain from his neck down with a harsh clank. Anthony winced and bowed his head under the sudden weight.

"_Oh_," Loki whispered, ashamed at his own foolishness, "my apologies, friend. I should have removed that first."

Anthony responded with a swift shake of his head, but remained silent. Loki cursed himself and touched the cold metal ring around his neck. It fell away, like the others, with a snap. Under his fingers, the skin felt hot and infected. Loki bit back another curse and removed his hands, unsure of how welcome his touch was.

"My mother died," Stark rasped out, quite suddenly. "She died and I had _nothing_ left."

Loki stilled, staring at Anthony as something inside him shattered. It wasn't the news that hurt his heart, but the voice that told it. Anthony was a man now, but his words trickled forth like a frightened child. Soft, unsure, _painful_.

"The Lord El removed my status not long after she had passed, claiming I was not truly a member of the Stark bloodline," Anthony continued, unaware of Loki's troubled frown. "I lost my home, my work, all of my things... I lost _everything_."

Loki shifted back a little and fell ungracefully into the first chair he could find. Anthony watched him from behind his hair, a hint of concern in his eyes.

"So you were... removed from your world?" Loki asked in a weak voice.

Anthony nodded and shuffled his feet. He had not moved from the spot since he entered the room.

"I was basically kidnapped and sold to the highest bidder," Anthony spoke bitterly, "apparently ex royals are high in demand."

"Bought..."

"Over and over again," Stark added, his voice growing raw with an emotion his face would not display. Loki looked away from the frozen mask and focused instead on the man's hands. They were shaking, badly, and the red skin gave way to dark bruises where the chains had previously covered. His left hand was more still than the other, and Loki noticed the wrist was bent at an odd angle.

"You... By the _Norns_," Loki began, standing up suddenly to reach out to him. "Why did you not tell me of your wounds?"

"You did not ask."

"How could I have known to?" Loki glanced into his eyes and found confusion and fear there. "I would have been more gentle if I had known."

"I didn't think you would."

Loki bowed his head and breathed over Anthony's abused hands, before pressing his muttering lips to his flesh. With his cold breath, a spell weaved itself into the damaged skin, sinking into the bone and muscle. He felt Stark tremble under his hands, but ignored it to watch the bone snap back into place.

So it had been broken. A broken wrist and not a sound from Stark this entire time. Just how conditioned to pain was he?

"There, that should help a..." Loki paled when he met his friend's eyes once more. Stark was shaking in fear, a few tears already streaking down his dirty face and dropping from his beard. Loki could feel the tension in his body, like a rabbit before the wolf. "No, _no_... Stark, you needn't fear me."

He reached out to wipe away a tear, and the man's tension snapped. With a startled cry, Stark ducked away from him, curling up instinctively into a ball. His arms came up to protect his head, and his knees pressed tight against his chest. His entire form was shaking, and a serious of soft pleading whimpers came muffled from his hidden face.

Bile rose in Loki's throat at the sight of his once happy friend pleading him to not strike. The boy who would shove him out of trees without a second thought, who laughed in his face when he failed in training. The same boy who treated him like an equal, something none of the Aesir ever did. That boy, now a man, was cowering on his bedroom floor as he waited for blows that would never come.

"_No_," Loki breathed, crouching down near him. His hand touched Stark's back gently, and was greeted by a harsh flinch and another wave of whimpering pleas.

"Pleasedon'tplesedon't...I'm sorrysorrysorry.. _Please_, I cannot, I'm sorry..."

"Anthony, Anthony... It is Loki. You cannot forget me for someone else."

The stream of whimpers stuttered to a stop, yet his body still shook.  
>"L-Loki?"<p>

"Yes," Loki replied calmly, his hand now tracing small circles on his back. "And I would never hurt you. Not ever, not like _this_."

He got no response for a while but the gasping pants from the hell hidden face. When Stark finally spoke, his voice wobbled and broke. "No... No, Loki just pushes me off of carts...hits me with...Thor's boots..."

Loki laughed. It was weak and lacked the amusement it should have held, but it seemed to be enough to calm the man below him. Anthony's panting breaths slowed as he fell into an uneasy slumber, still curled around himself on the cold floor.

Loki waited until he was sure Stark was asleep, and lifted him from the floor easily. Far too easily, for he weighed even less than Loki had originally guessed. He could feel the bones rubbing together as he lays him down gently on his bed. The man instantly curled over, needing to protect himself even as he slept. Loki sat on the bed, legs folded under him, and watched his new slave twitch and jerk in his sleep.

Rage, and the promise of torturous deaths writhed in Loki's chest. He silently swore to the shivering back beside him that he would make them regret the day they laid their hands on Anthony Stark.


	2. Consequence

Loki woke up cold, stiff, and aching for a good fuck. It had been his plan to spend the night with a nice, clean slave who would ease his stress. Instead, he spent the night dozing off while he watched an old friend twitch and cry out in his sleep. It did very little to help his mood when he saw the bruises scattered across the small stretch of skin that had been exposed in the night. Some of them looked suspiciously like massive hand prints. Which meant someone of Jotunhiem had touched his slave. His _friend_.

Loki gritted his teeth and rubbed his eyes angrily. This was not helping him in anyway, this rage he felt. He simply did not have the time to take revenge, even for an old friend. He had an insane mage out there hurting his people, the second moon was rising in two weeks time, which meant a month of darkness to suffer through. He still didn't have enough trustworthy men to enforce the strict rationing he was forced to declare thanks to the moronic magic-user. He really did not have the _time_...

Loki gazed at the pale stretch of skin and frowned deeply. This was Anthony. This broken, starved body below him was someone precious to him, more precious than anyone could understand. Because Anthony and he shared a secret.

* * *

><p><strong>26 Years ago<strong>  
><strong>Asgard<strong>

Odin had given Thor his first ring for his arm band today. It was garish, made of gold and covered in small gems that didn't seem to form any sensible pattern. Thor had loved it, while Loki noticed his mother's look of slight disgust when she laid eyes on the object. Clearly the Lady Frigga had not been included in the choosing the band. Loki stifled his laughter and slipped back behind the crowd as the adults pressed closer to praise their prince.

"Loki..."

Loki turned and tried to find who was calling him in the sea of bodies.

"Loki, over _here_ you big idiot."

With a curse, he ducked down to look through the adults legs. He spotted a flash of red and dashed after it, twisting and ducking his way around the guests faster and faster.

"Call me an idiot again, you ugly troll!" He called out, jumping past a servant carrying a large, heavy tray full of mead. The woman cried out in surprise, but Loki didn't stop. He launched himself off the top step of the main staircase, landing heavily on the bottom step.

"Idiot!" Came the voice from below the raised pathway.

Loki snarled and darted to the side, casting a glare over the grounds below him. There, standing half behind a shrubbery, was Anthony. He was smirking and waving, confident enough in his lead to pause and mock Loki. Loki bared his teeth in a feral grin and leapt off the top of the fifty foot wall to the gardens below.

He enjoyed his friend's startled cry in response and landed easily in the grass, tumbling and setting off again in a split second.

"I warned you!"

He rounded on his pray and pounced, earning a loud squawk as the boy fell to the ground under him.

"Freyja's tits, Loki," he panted, leaning his head back and groaning, "you weigh a ton. You're a _giant_."

Loki leaned his head back and took in a deep breath before smashing his forehead into Anthony's face. Anthony sputtered and whimpered, his hands flying up to clutch at his already bleeding nose.

"Whyda do daat?!"

Loki snarled and sat up, letting his weight settle on the boy's stomach. "Make fun of me again, and I shall deliver onto you ten times that. You think it's amusing, my stature? You are one to talk!" Loki jabbed his chest with a finger. "I've known dwarfs taller than you!"

"Youd didnin haff to break myd nose!"

"Oh _please_," Loki muttered, clicking his tongue, "it's hardly broken. I would have felt it break."

"Id hurds!" Tony whined, kicking his legs under Loki.

After another minute of the boy fussing and wriggling around under him, Loki leaned down and let out a chilly breath over his face. The boy stopped struggling and looked up at him with teary eyes.

"Hold still, you imp," Loki commanded, letting his magic flow freely from his fingers. Anthony's eyes fluttered closed as a sigh of relief escaped his lips.

"Dank you..."

"You did nothing to deserve it," Loki reminded, sitting back up again to look at the bloody mess below him. "You look like the back end of Thor's goat during mating season."

"You look like a widdle blue bird crying for his mommy," Anthony snapped in response, reaching up to flick the white lines that traced down Loki's cheeks. Loki hissed and jerked away from him, real tears quickly forming in his eyes.

He leaped up, giving Anthony one last miserable look before he turned and fled. Loki heard him call out from behind, apologies and begging for forgiveness. But he ignored it and ran and ran and ran.

The gardens came to an end far beyond the inner palace walls. Immaculate green lawns bled into longer grasses and rows upon perfect rows of apple trees. Loki ran between them, cutting across the rows and leaping over left baskets, rods to knock the golden apples down, and even a snoozing grounds keeper. It all blurred into one as he ran, his eyes were so clouded with tears.

At last, he left the trees and entered the fields of wheat. Here, he slowed until he stumbled to his knees and let out a sob. Anthony was always cruel to him, _always_. He found the most painful part of his heart to poke at, and could be relentless until warned off. Loki had developed a stronger shell because of this, but sometimes the boy still got him.

"I _hate_... him," Loki choked out, falling on his side to hide behind the silvery stalks to wheat.

It wasn't true, entirely. Because he knew Anthony never meant to hurt him like that. Words just flew from his lips like eager young birds, ready for their first flight. Later, the boy would find him and give him something he made as an apology. It would be amazing, distracting, and just for Loki. Then, Loki would forgive him, just like always. Because Anthony was his only true friend here, no matter how harsh they could be to one another. He always healed Anthony, and Anthony always made amends. That was how it was, and always would be.

Loki grumbled at his thoughts and wiped his eyes. He should not cry like this much longer, not if he wished to get his first arm band like Thor. Thor never cried, he never had any reason to. Which was probably why they didn't get along so well, even if Anthony and him seemed to be friends.

There was a sound, too loud to be a field mouse, but to careful to be Anthony approaching. The boy was anything but subtle with his red robes and flashy smile.

Something about the sound sent a shiver up Loki's spine, and made him strain his ears to hear more. Someone, or something was moving through the wheat as carefully as a cat stalking its pray. Someone who didn't want to be seen or heard, someone who was_ not_ supposed to be there.

Loki rose into a crouch and squinted through the wheat. The sound came again from his left, and he hunkered down further when something caught his eye.

Blue. Dusty blue skin, marked with white lines like scars. A Frost Giant was creeping through the fields and heading straight for the palace.

Normally, Odin allowed all races and people to come and go from his kingdom as they pleased. Normally, they would come and go through the city and the Bifrost. But here was someone from Loki's home, far from the normal area that guests should be. Loki crept closer and bit his lip nervously. The giant, was gigantic. Much larger than the servants that his father had assigned him when he left Loki with the lords of Asgard. He had obviously chosen the smallest of his staff for the sake of Loki's comfort. It was no secret that he was different. Smaller than any other Frost Giant, a magic user, and far too weak to live in such a cold environment. His father's advisors told him to kill Loki, warned him that showing mercy was a sign of weakness. Luckily for him, his father chose his own path. Instead, he banished Loki to Asgard to be taken care off by the royal family. Loki knew it was only a 'banishment' in name only, but truly the only way to save his miserable life. Of course he was thankful to be alive, but he missed his home and father dearly.

So Loki called out to the sneaking Frost Giant, thinking little beyond the familiarity of home and the hope of news. The huge man stopped in his tracks and turned swiftly to glare at Loki.

The traditional greeting died in his throat as a massive blue hand closed around his neck and squeezed.

"Who are you?!" He growled, crushing Loki down into the wheat below him. His red eyes narrowed as recognition set in. Of all days to be seen by one of his own. Today Loki was wearing the traditional robes and jewelery of Jotunhiem for Thor's ceremony. Any other day and he would be without the marks of his father's house, dressed in plain clothing and running around half covered in dirt from fighting Anthony. The hand did not loosen from around Loki's neck even as he recognized him. "I know you... you are that banished prince."

Loki clawed at the hand desperately, the words beginning to fade from hearing from the rushing of the blood in his ears. He choked and gasped and clawed some more.

"No wonder our king abandoned you," the giant continued, looking over Loki's skinny body with disgust. "You are smaller than my wife! Look how feeble your struggling is." He leaned closer and breathed into Loki's face. "Look how easily I can _break _you."

Loki let out one final whimper before the hand tightened around his throat. His vision swam and bursts of light flashed in time with his slowing heartbeat. One... two... three...

A mighty roar filled the air, and a sickening crunch joined it soon after. Something was prying the fingers from Loki's neck, biting at his bruised skin as they pulled away. Air at last. Dry, dusty air filled Loki's lungs and he choked on it. It burned in his throat and pained his lungs with every struggling breath. Hands lifted his head from the ground and Loki panicked, lashing out with his nails.

"Loki! Ow, fuck! _Stop_!" Came a voice, warm hands catching his. "It's me, stop trying to kill me you idiot."

"Anth—" Loki wheezed and fell into another fit of coughing. It hurt so much and he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes yet.

"I got you," Anthony said, his voice soothing in Loki's ear. "Stop flailing around and relax, okay? Panicking is only going to make it worse."

Loki nodded a little and went limp in his arms, his hands still squeezing Anthony's tightly. The boy squeezed back and pulled him into a sitting position, letting his body lean heavily against him.

"Let me know when you're done so I can start panicking myself."

Loki leaned back and opened his eyes at last. He gasped at the sight in front of him. Anthony was splattered with a dark, almost purple substance. It dripped from his face and pooled in his lap. The hands that squeezed Loki's reassuringly, were coated with the stuff. The face that looked back at Loki was not the grinning fool he was used to seeing. Anthony was pale, his eyes were so wide and scared they looked as deep and dark as the well.

"Anthony," he croaked, "what is... is this..._ blood_?"

"P-probably."

Loki looked around for the first time and saw the Frost Giant laying to the side, also covered in the dark blood. About half of his head was missing, and Loki let out a hysterical laugh at the sight.

"Hey, i'm the one who's supposed to p-panic. I just..." Anthony trailed off, his eyes beginning to water, "I just k-killed someone!"

Loki clenched the boy's hands and pulled him closer, ignoring the mess that was now covering him as well. "You saved me. He was killing me, so do not think of it as any other way."

"I just... I saw him and I was about to say 'hi ugly' and I noticed you under him and I just... I hit him."

Loki swallowed and winced, his throat still sore. "What did you hit him with?"

Anthony blinked a few times and something of his old self returned as he let go of one of Loki's hands and pulled something from his pocket. It was a round circlet of metal with a blue stone inlaid in the center. Two clasps connected on either side of it, strung together by a leather thong. There was a hum of energy coming from the stone that Loki could not identify, even with his magic.

"You blew something up again?" He asked, looking up from the device.

"His head." Anthony nodded to the body and smiled weakly. The smile did not reach his eyes.

"Anthony," Loki began softly before something over the boy's shoulder caught his eye. He froze in fear when another pair of red eyes met his own. There was a second one.

This time, the roar came from the giant as it lunged towards them. Loki had a split second to decide how to avoid the attack. He glanced back at Anthony's confused face and decided not to. Instead, he pushed him to the side and dug his heels into the ground just as the massive body slammed into him. They both flew backwards, and there was a sharp pain as they fell. Blood began to fill his mouth. Loki had landed with all of the giant's weight on top of him, crushing the air right out of his already abused lungs. With a choked moan, Loki glared up at the engaged face above him and spit blood into his eyes.

"Augh?! You little—"

A sharp blade of ice flashed through the air and embedded itself in the giant's neck. Loki's vision filled with dark blood and he screamed as it sprayed over his face. The body fell against his, twitching and jerking on top of him. Something in his chest snapped under the weight and he choked in pain and the blood that was now trickling down his throat.

Then, it was over. The body stopped moving and the spray slowed to a dribble. Anthony appeared and pushed the dead man off of him with a grunt.

"Loki? Are you okay?! What happened?"

Loki stared up at the blue sky, his body felt violated and broken, his vision cloudy from pain. Anthony hovered over him, looking beyond exhausted.

Loki met his eyes at last and mumbled around the mess in his mouth, "... I killed him."

They left that field with a promise to never tell anyone what exactly happened. They both swore to bend the truth as much as possible, to save themselves and each other. They had been covered in blood, bruises, cuts, a fractured wrist for Anthony, and two broken ribs for Loki. So, instead of heading right back to the palace, they hobbled together to the nearest stream and proceeded to clean up as best as they could. They did so in complete silence.

Their return was not greeted with much rejoicing, since their absence had long since been noted and counted as a disappearance. When the maids laid eyes on the two figures limping up the palace steps, soaking wet and bruised all over, a fuss went up immediately. Frigga pulled Loki to the side, seeing that he seemed more harmed than the other, and started to heal what she could find. She soon came to realize that his refusal to tell her where it hurt was because his tongue had swollen up from biting it. But even after he was healed, he would not answer any questions. It was the same for Anthony, just silence.

Even after both boys were patched up and re-clothed, and were placed in front of Odin himself, they refused to explain. Even after the two bodies were found, each with children's hand prints on them, they would not speak a word. Odin raged, threatened, and nearly smacked them both in his desperation to know how the two Frost Giants met their deaths. So they lied and said they were playing and found the bodies. They claimed the wounds were from each other, that they had been afraid of the bodies so they did not speak of them. Loki watched the suspicion grow in the king's eyes the longer the spoke. He watched as disappointment soon took its place.

That had been the beginning of the end. Two weeks later, Anthony was gone from his life. Then it was just him, alone with the royals who no longer trusted him. For he was left with the blame for the murders, even if there was no proof. He was mocked and bullied, when he wasn't being completely ignored. People started to speak of the Frost Giants as ruthless brutes who would kill their own kind for amusement. It was Loki against the world, and the entire realm was against him.

* * *

><p>Anthony had just stirred from his sleep before sitting up quickly enough to startle Loki from his thoughts. A short assessment of the room seemed to put the man at mild ease before he spotted Loki.<p>

"Lo... Sire..."

"Oh, _please_," Loki groaned, "anything but that. I hear it enough around here without it coming from you as well."

Anthony smiled that half smile and looked down at the bed. After blinking at the furs for a moment, he let out a mournful sound and scrambled out of the bed.

"My apologies! I did not mean to take your bed, my lord!" He yelled, falling to his knees by the bed and bowing his head nearly to the floor.

Loki turned away quickly and swallowed back the nausea. "Stop. Stand up," he croaked, glancing back and grimacing. Stark stayed plastered to the floor, his body shivering from either cold or fear.

"Stand up, _NOW_!"

Anthony jumped up and backed away quickly, his eyes looking wildly around the room. Loki reached a hand out to calm him and pulled it back when the man flinched.

"Stark... Anthony, we need to talk. So, if you could please?" Loki gestured to the bed and pulled up a chair beside it. When the man didn't move, Loki commanded in a firmer tone, "Sit. Bed."

Anthony's eyes grew wider behind the mess of hair falling across his face. Eventually he shuffled back over to the bed and sat, somewhat reluctantly.

"Good, now... I shall have you do a few things I would have asked even if we were not friends. But because we are, I shall make sure you understand where your boundaries lie. Understand?"

"Yes..."Anthony stared at him blankly, his eyes growing dull with resignation.

Loki leaned back in his chair and looked him up and down. The clothing was hardly worth calling fabric, let alone wardrobe material. Anthony's fingers looked red and chapped from the cold, something else Loki was going to have to take care of. Loki scowled at his fireplace and raised the fire to a much higher blaze with a flick of a wrist. The man flinched a little, but gave an appreciative smile to Loki. It wasn't much, but any step closer to normality was an improvement.

"First, we need to remove all of _that_," Loki said, pointing to the scraps he was wearing, "so strip by the fire and let me look at you."

"N...no," Anthony whined faintly, clutching at his dirty pants desperately. "I would rather not, if that's alright."

"There is no need for modesty, it is not as though I haven't seen your body before."

"Not like this, you haven't."

"Anthony," Loki began, a frown starting to form, "if I am going to help you, I need to see the damage. To see said damages, you need to remove that disgusting mass that is covering your body."

"I don't... I don't want to be touched again," Anthony answered quietly, his face turned back to look at his clenched hands.

Loki huffed with irritation and closed his eyes for a brief moment. "That is another thing we need to discuss. You seem to be under the impression I intended to hurt you. Which, of course, I did not." Loki leaned forward to look directly into Anthony's eyes. He spoke slowly, aiming to get his point across as clearly as possible. "I absolutely will _not_ touch you again unless given your permission. With a few exceptions, of course."

"Of course..." Anthony repeated, growing paler.

"If you are in danger," Loki continued, not noticing the way the man stiffened at his words, "or if you trip and fall. I might have to touch you to heal your wounds, other than that I swear on my life I shall not."

Loki gave the man a weak smile and kept the rest to himself. It didn't matter, he could find another slave for those desires. Not that he was going to have time between all this madness. He felt a familiar ache start to grow behind his eyes. The rest of the day was going to be unpleasant, and on barely an hour's sleep to top it all off.

"You promise me you won't..." The man trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Won't?" Loki prompted.

"...have your way with me?"

Nausea hit his stomach again and a hand flew to cover his mouth. It took all his effort to not vomit at the thought of it. Taking Anthony against his will, as many others had clearly done before. To rip those rags from his body and press his face into the bed. Loki shuddered with a mix of revulsion, and a surprising spark of excitement.

No, that was not allowed. Not now, not _ever_. Anthony was to be treasured and treated as the dear friend he was. Not some lifeless sex slave. Loki would have to look elsewhere for a body to abuse in such ways.

"I would rather die than do that to you," Loki answered at last, his eyes settling on Anthony's shoulder.

The man seemed to be studying him for a long while before he stood up quite suddenly.

"As you wish," was all he said before he pulled the grimy tunic over his head.

Loki froze, unable to take his eyes away from the body in front of him. It certainly was not the same as it had been when they swam naked as boys. Under the bruised skin and malnourishment lay some muscles that rippled quite nicely as he tossed the shirt away. But soon Loki's attention was caught by something trailing across the man's skin.

"What are those?" Loki asked, standing from his chair and moving closer without thinking. Anthony had started slipping down his pants when Loki moved, causing him to pause and stare at him in fear.

"My lord?"

"Call me 'Loki' in private, and I asked what..." Loki muttered and leaned closer to peer at the man's chest. It was covered in scars, some old and some new. But the most obvious ones were the names.

Some were etched into his skin like a carving, others branded with hot iron. There were some clearly crossed or burnt out, leaving a wide wound across his skin. Loki traced each one with his eyes, moving around Anthony to find even more on his back. He counted well over twenty names that he could still see. Gods knows how many were scratched out or healed over enough to be unreadable.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw some old familiar names from one of the many parties on Asgard. Names he never thought he would hear again, never mind find carved into Anthony's back.

"I need... I need to touch you, now."

There was a nervous gasp and a long, tense pause after his request. Loki waited, his hand hovering over Anthony's back.

"Please, It will only be a moment," he assured. At that, Anthony gave in with a nod.

Loki brushed his fingers under a long name that scrawled across his shoulder blades. He felt the muscles tense and a course of shudders run through the body under his hand. "Be still, and breathe. This might ache a little."

"You said you wouldn't hurt—!"

Loki's magic swelled beneath his fingers, sending sparks flowing across Anthony's body in seconds. The man let out a startled scream and tried to get away from Loki.

"Anthony! Stop this wriggling about," Loki hissed, already breaking his promise by pulling him closer. Which only caused Anthony to struggle harder, sending them both toppling over backwards. Loki wrapped his arms around him and took the brunt of the fall, letting out a pained whimper as his head struck the floor. The man stopped moving as soon as he heard the sound, only shifting enough to peer over his shoulder at Loki.

Loki tried to sit up, but fell back again with another thud that made his vision swim.

"Lord... Loki?" Anthony was now crouched over him, his eyes wide with concern.

"Did it complete?" Loki asked, having trouble forming the words. His head felt as though it was filled with powdered snow.

"I don't know what you mean," Anthony replied, his fingers ghosting over his face before touching the back of Loki's head tentatively. "You're hurt. I hurt you."

"No..." Loki grumbled, pulling himself up at last before resting his head in his hands, "I hurt myself. But... I just wanted to help."

He was greeted by a worrying silence that forced him to lift his head to see what was wrong. Anthony was still kneeling in front of him, completely devoid of any clothing whatsoever. What made the sight much easier on the eyes was the lack of visible scars.

Oh, they were still there. Loki could not erase such irreparable damage with magic. Magic was a trade of energies, to give was to take away and vice versa. In the end, he did not have the power to remove them completely. So they were dulled, as if they had healed well all that time ago. Healed with with care, as they should have.

"You... You _fixed_ me?"

Loki nodded and regretted it immediately. His head hurt far too much for this. "Yes, I did my best. Now if you would just... be _silent_ for moment." Loki clutched his head and mumbled a few words, unable to do much to help his aching head other than to dull the pain. He wasn't in his top condition today, after all.

"There, that will have to suffice for now," Loki said at last, smiling across at Anthony's worried face. "I think it's time I found you something to wear, unless you do not mind continuing to bless me with the view of your body. I certainly shan't complain."

Anthony looked down at himself and back up, before he jumped away with a squeak. "M a-apologies!"

Loki burst out laughing and stood up, dusting himself off with another good natured chuckle. He had surprised himself, laughing like that. It had been so long since he laughed, he could not even recall when the last time had been.

When the jesters came to the court? When he tricked the council into drinking drugged wine that heated their desires? No, nothing had drawn out of him anything more than a chuckle.

So, still feeling light hearted, Loki entered the side room that was set aside for his clothing. He would have to have some things tailored for Anthony, considering the man seemed to have stopped growing not all that long after they last spoke. That got another snicker out of him as he plucked up some robes for his friend.

"I hope you still wear red, it suits you very—" he nearly tripped over Anthony as he came barreling into the closet just as Loki was leaving. "By the Norns, what is it now?"

"Someone... is _here_."

Loki frowned and handed over the long red tunic and black pants. "Put these on in here and don't come out, I shall deal with them," he ordered before stepping out into his room. An unknown servant, that Loki had never bothered to remember the name of, was standing awkwardly just inside the door. Loki scowled deeply at him and crossed his arms.

"Firstly, one must never enter the king's chambers without his permission, and I am very busy today. I certainly do not wish to be disturbed by trifling matters!"

"My a-apologies, sire!" The boy stammered out, ducking his head, "it _is_ important."

"What is so important that you felt the need to barge into my chambers and startle his new servant?" Loki snapped, stepping closer to the boy will small, silent steps. He knew how frightening he could be, and enjoyed using that to his full advantage often.

"Th-the village of the north, Harstad , sire."

"What of it?"

"Well... It's, it's _gone_, sir. The magic user has burnt it to the ground."

Loki's arms dropped from his chest, uncaring how transparent his shock was. "And the villagers, who survived?"

The young servant backed away a little, and looked down at his pale blue hands. "I'm afraid... I..."

"_Tell me!_"

"N-none of them, My Lord. No one survived."

Loki's anger fell away and shattered in the depths of disrepair. This had been an annoying game, at first. No one had been truly harmed, no lives taken. Yet now, thanks to his negligence a village was lost. An_ entire_ village of people, gone.

Loki shoved the boy out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him. He clawed at his hair and fell against the door, curled up with his face against his knees. No sound came from him, but a silent scream of rage echoed in his mind. Sturdy arms embraced him, but he could not find comfort in them. Anthony was there, touching him against his will, facing his fears, and Loki could not even rejoice. Because he had let them die. He had as good as killed them. He had failed to stop the mage.

He had failed his kingdom.


	3. Serendipitous

Loki was stirred from his sleep by an unusual warmth surrounding him. Considering he normally rose in the early morning with a chill throughout his body, it was enough of a change to draw him from his troubled dreams. It wasn't, however, enough to make him open his eyes. The heat was borderline blissful, something Loki had not enjoyed since he returned to Jotunheim. He never knew how much he missed the warmth until it was returned to him. Several minutes later, his sleepy mind managed to form a question.

_W__hy is he was so warm, again?_

Loki's eyes snapped open, squinting through the half light of the morning and the banked fire. It was not enough light to be able to focus on the mystery source of warmth. But he did not need his eyes to feel that something was in his bed with him. There was a body pressed against him so closely, their limbs were completely tangled together. Warm, deep breaths brushed against his chest, and Loki felt the tickle of hair under his chin.

_Who, in _Hel_ is in my bed?_

Loki wracked his brain for any memory of bringing a slave to his bedroom. Even if he had, he never let them sleep with him. They were always told to go when Loki was finished with them.

The body shifted against him, a long shuddering sigh escaping the lips that pressed closer to his chest. There was a rough brush of facial hair against Loki's skin, and it finally dawned on him who it was.

Anthony, of course. Loki vaguely remembered having some sort of a break down before the man dragged him to his own bed and tucked him in. How, or when, Anthony had crawled in with Loki was beyond him. What was more surprising was how little it bothered him once he knew who it was. He felt warm, comfortable and safe.

Loki bit back a nasty laugh, struggling to keep his body from shaking, lest he wake his bed guest. The king, wishing for safety. If any of them even knew how often he felt endangered, alone, _fragile_...

Well, they certainly would be pestering him for an heir, more than they already were. Several attempts at arranged marriages had been carefully organized by the court, and all of them ended rather poorly. Something to do with his 'barbaric attitude', or the way he played tricks that sent them running from the great hall crying.

It was all nonsense, and he wanted nothing more to do with it. In fact, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep a little longer. To enjoy a little more of that old Asgardain sun he missed so much.

The first bell of the morning rang, reminding him that he was King, the people needed him, and Asgard was far in the past.

"Anthony, my warm friend," he purred as he nuzzled his face into the man's hair, "it is time we got up."

The body shifted again, but the breathing did not seem to change. Loki worried his lip and tried to decide how to proceed further. One option was to break his promise, again, and shake the man awake. Regardless of how much touching was going on right now, grabbing or poking at him would undoubtably send him right back into a panicked state. The other was to call out until the man awoke, but who knows the reaction he could have even then.

No, perhaps it was best to wait it out, rather than startle him again. Last time ended with Loki bashing his head against the floor, something he would not forgive twice. So, instead, he dozed a little, his thoughts wondering in safe areas.

_What would he find for Anthony to wear for today? The tailor was going to have to wait while he...__No, do not think of that right now._

_Feeding him, that was important as well. By the Norns, has anyone fed the man since he arrived?_

Loki shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the memory of Anthony's body. Those scars were testament to his past treatment, and it was unlikely the man was fed as often as he should have been.

Anthony finally started to stir, long after Loki's thoughts trickled down into half dreams, and hopeless wishes. He had just had a small day dream about a fruit from Asgard that he used to love, when the man's head jerked up suddenly and promptly smashed into Loki's jaw.

The king hissed in pain as blood filled his mouth from bitting his tongue. A thousand curses flashed through his mind, but he doubted he could utter them even if he wanted to.

"My... oh, Loki," Anthony mumbled, surprised but still looking half asleep. "Your mouth..."

Loki forced himself to smile past the pain, and pulled himself up out of Anthony's warm arms. His body protested far more than usual, but he managed to lean off the bed to spit the blood out.

"Yeth..." Loki cleared his throat and continued, "i am afraid your head met with my chin. Did you not feel that?"

Anthony was wide awake now, his usual state of panic returned ten fold. "I am _so_ sorry! I don't even know how I ended up here. P-please forgive me for everything."

He babbled more apologies until Loki turned around and plopped his head right on the man's shoulder.

"Anthony, I do not have the energy to reassure you right this moment. So, forgive me for that." He paused, forcing himself to swallow the second wave of blood pooling in his mouth. It was warm, disgusting. "Just trust me when I say it's fine. You make a lovely little heater, I must admit."

"I... _oh_, I was here all night, then?"

Loki shrugged and lifted his head from the warm shoulder, trying again to look impassive. He hoped he managed to at least look bored, if not sleepy. With a small spark of power, he managed to heal his throbbing tongue, managing to crack a smile at the still nervous man.

_Right, clothing._

"Come," Loki ordered, slipping past him to climb from the bed, "I really must get up, and we should find you some clothes for the day."

Anthony followed him out from beneath the covers, a noticeable shiver running through them both as the cold air brushed their skin. Loki left him to warm up what little he could by the dying fire, heading straight for the closet to dig through his pants for something that might fit the shorter man.

"I do not suppose you can go for one more day with those decrepit trousers you came here with?"

"I don't mind."

"Then I suggest you find them and put them on, we have a long day ahead of us," Loki said, finding robes for himself now.

"What would I be doing, if you don't mind me asking?"

Loki froze, one leg through a pair of leather pants. He hadn't thought of that. There was no viable excuse to keep Anthony by his side throughout the day. Especially today, since most of the meetings would be discussing the mage's crimes and what would now be considered a war. He could not revoke Anthony's slave status, the list complications were taller than him. But there truly was nothing that could excuse keeping him next to Loki at all times, even if he were king. People would talk, perhaps even harass Anthony. Complications, always more complications.

With an exasperated sigh, he slipped back into the room, tunic in hand and a beginnings of a plan on his lips. He was so distracted by his thoughts, he narrowly missed the small smile that was gracing Anthony's lips as he looked down at his body. Fingers trailed along old scars, slowing at some and quickly passing over others. The smile grew wider until Loki accidentally dropped his shirt, startling Anthony from his small moment of happiness and causing the man to quickly tug his shirt back down.

"My apologies," Loki mumbled, swooping down to pick his tunic up from the floor. When his eyes met Anthony's again, the smile was gone and replaced with a frown and a deep flush across his cheeks. "What is it? Are you unwell?"

"You... er, you are quite _bare_," Anthony answered quietly, staring regardless of how shy he sounded.

Loki looked down and realized that he was, indeed, showing off a lot of his skin. Normally, that wasn't an issue with the other slaves, but this was Anthony and there were far too many reasons he did not want to show him his body. An irrational amount of worry started to gnaw at his insides at the thought of Anthony being disappointed by what he saw. He started to pull on the black tunic when a hand stopped him suddenly.

"Wait..."

Loki stared down at his friend in a mix of awe and discomfort. It was astounding how fast the man had grown comfortable enough to touch him. But, they seemed to have moved past that, If last night was anything to attest to. But the way he was looking at Loki now made the king feel vulnerable, even weak. His chest had been bare, showing all of his scars, all his mistakes written across the blue skin.

A warm hand crept up his stomach, pushing the shirt back up. Loki knew what he was searching for, he knew Anthony must have seen it.

"This scar," Stark whispered, his eyes focused on the mark across Loki's abdomen. "This was a deadly wound. What happened?"

Loki thought of a dozen lies he could tell, but something prompted the truth from him. "I was not so welcome here, when they called me back to be their king. Apparently I had cousins I never knew of, others who felt they deserved the throne. _This_," Loki captured Anthony's hand in his own and traced the long gash down to the hip bone, "this was from a heated blade. They thought I would suffer so much more for it, but it seems they had forgotten I was not a full Jotun. I suffered as any man would."

"It did not heal, you didn't heal it like mine?"

"Unfortunately, I was too close to death to drag enough energy forth to heal it at the times. I was forced to rely on others to survive, others who thankfully came to my assistance against my cousin's wishes. After that well," he sighed and let go of Anthony's hand, "I never thought to do it, I suppose. It serves as a reminder of who I am."

"Who _are_ you, that needs a scar longer than my arm to prove?"

"The outcast, the unwanted."

Anthony looked up at him, his eyes wide and dark. There were questions lurking behind them, years of mistakes or triumphs to learn about one another. But there was something else, a familiarity that Loki had found no where else. The man's fingers were tracing the scar back up his stomach again, sending a shiver through Loki. It really wasn't fair to be touched by someone you weren't allowed to touch. Any longer and Loki was going to have to push him away, which would undoubtably end with Anthony unhappy as well.

"You're king here, I'd say you are pretty wanted," Anthony said at last. "One guy doesn't make a kingdom hate you."

Loki thought of the mage and the village he had just destroyed, and said, "One just might."

* * *

><p>Anthony followed him closely, his well worn shoes making no sound on the cold stone as they walked. Loki boots clicked loudly, an angry, harsh sound that suited his mood.<p>

There would be no breakfast for him, no break, no relaxation. Today was for war, a war he had been too wishy-washy to avoid. This was his mess, and he would not be allowed an ounce of luxury until some remedies had been made.

_If _remedies could be made, he reminded himself. People were not so easily swayed by apologies, especially when so much destruction had been wrought. The citizens were allowed to underestimate the mage, to mock him and go on with their lives. The king had not and _should_ not have taken him lightly. Loki had let him slide one too many times.

_And now, my people have died._

Dark thoughts brought him all the way down to the throne room, but once there Loki's mind traveled back to his other current issue. He never formed a proper plan for what Anthony was to do for the rest of the day. His friend was no less important, but the fate of his kingdom would have to come first. Still, the man had to do _something _while the councilors bickered. Just as he was about to turn around and ask Stark if he had any ideas, a voice interrupted him.

"Ah, sir!" Anifein called out, "I see you... why is _he_ here, sire? Were you unhappy with him?"

Loki waved a distracted hand at his aid, just now spotting the members of his council lurking around the doors. "Feed him," he commanded, "I have work to do."

Anifein narrowed his eyes at the slave, making note of his lord's dismissal, and roughly grabbed Anthony's arm to lead him to the kitchens. If Loki had heard the startled squeak, he failed to register past the worried thoughts of the meeting he was about to lead. Without looking back, he strode into the room with the mask of a confident man, and started a war.

* * *

><p>It was painfully clear to Anifein that the slave had failed his nightly duties for the king. Anifein had never made a mistake before this, meaning this would undoubtably be his first and last. A permanent scowl settled into his features even as the delicious smells of the morning meal wafted out from the kitchen.<p>

"You,_ sit_," he ordered the useless slave, scowling more when the man nodded dumbly and sat without response.

By the Norns, he really _had_ made a dire mistake. He should have known when he saw that disgusting, shaggy hair, and a _beard_! What was he thinking? The Lord never wanted bearded men in his bed. But the trader had been so adamant about the slave's quality. 'Pristine condition', his _rassinn_. The man looked as though he had been trampled by a  
>ís dýrið and left for dead.<p>

Anifein swallowed his rising panic and set about getting breakfast for both of them. He didn't even have enough concentration to withhold food from the useless slave, what was the point? So, he slapped a full bowl of soup down for the man, and settled into his own dish of strew with a grumble.

"My thanks," Stark mumbled at the table, keeping his face in shadow under the locks of his greasy hair.

"Ah, it speaks. How _nice_," he snapped in reply, "you shan't need to speak for much longer, slave."

"I don't understand, why not?" Stark looked up from his soup with wide, confused eyes.

"The king does not need more useless bodies around the castle. One less mouth to feed in this bad time. Finish eating, and I will be returning you to the trader."

"No!" Stark squawked, a hand twitching enough to send the bowl of soup all over the table.

Enough was enough. Anifein threw his spoon down, and jerked the man out of his seat by the scruff of his tunic.

"You listen, and you listen _well_," he hissed in the man's ear."You have failed your lord, slave. Take your removal as a blessing, typically lord Loki slaughters a useless being such as yourself."

"He does not," Anthony whimpered.

"I've seen it myself." Anifein pulled him around the table and started off down the hall, dragging the slave behind him. He did not care that the tunic was strangling the man, it was his small, personal revenge. None of this would ease his punishment later, but he could get some amusement before he was cast out, or worse. All he could focus on now was the small hope that the trader was still there, and willing to trade for a better slave. He owed Anifein, after all. No one sells the king a faulty item, especially not to King Loki.

The choking whimper from behind him was enough to remind him that he _did_ need to trade him back, meaning he needed to be alive.

"Get up," he ordered, hoisting the man from the floor with one hand. "You are lucky that he is still in town."

Anthony's face, that had been red from the struggle, went pale. "P-please don't. He likes me, it wasn't—"

"He was _not_ satisfied, I could see it. Do not try to lie your way out of this, lest I be tempted to drag you some more." He waved to the slave trader and called out, "Lop!"

The elf greeted him with a scowl and looked at the slave beside him. "Did I not just sell you that item? Why is he here?"

"He is defective, useless. The king was not pleased with your so called 'prime goods."

The trader looked Anthony over, clearly not as impressed as he previously acted. "So maybe he got a little scared, a little cold feet."

The trader laughed at his joke, clearly one he told often around the Jotunn brothels. If he wasn't so good at his job, Anifein was sure someone would have killed him already.

"He is _useless_, and I want to exchange him."

"Nothing left to exchange, i'm afraid. Sold out my entire stock between the brothel and the land lords."

Anifein bit the inside of his cheek to keep a scream of frustration at bay. There was no hope, then. No redemption for his mistake. It took months for Lop to return with slaves, sometimes longer if there was little battle to be seen across the realms. He would have to take this miserable trash back to the castle. Perhaps killing the thing would relieve some of King Loki's anger, and save his own life.

"Ah, perhaps you can trade him at the brothel?" Lop suggested with a sly smile. "If you tell them just who he is, they would be more than willing to take him."

"Would they? Looking like _this_?" he snarled, pulling the slave off his feet and brandishing him at the smaller elf. The trader was not easily intimidated, and simply went on smiling.

"He's Anthony Stark. If you were more world wise, I think you would understand the appeal. His family was one of the uppermost families on Asgard at one time. His father was good friends with the king, even. This ugly thing," he said, pointing to Stark, "was one step away from being a prince. Now can you imagine why his flesh is so desired? A fallen prince, so soft and fragile. Many have enjoyed ruining it."

Anifein let out a final, frustrated sigh, and threw the slave over his shoulder. "I will take your advice, trader. Next time, bring The Lord something good."

"Yes, yes. I swear it."

"Good," he growled, and left to bring his bad goods to the only brothel in the capital city.

* * *

><p>The meeting had gone far better than Loki could have ever anticipated. They had never faced a terror like this together before. Yes, there had been war and bandits and murders, but nothing quite like this mage. Perhaps, that was why it drew them together all the more. It was no longer a room full of bickering old giants, but a single thinking machine. Ideas flew like never before, the only arguments were held quickly and quietly. In fact, they reached their conclusion well before the lunch hour. Loki did not know if he should be grateful at their ability to band together, or irritated because they never managed to do so before.<p>

He threw the doors open wide and strode out again, his mind filled with a most impressive plan. The mage wanted something, clearly. Every move he made earned him the attention he seemed to seek, and when attention wandered away from him, he killed. Loki had seen his fair share of attention seeking idiots, this one was no different. So, he proposed a trap for the mage. A meeting with the king, a show for the people that the mage was worth his time. Everyone would be looking, including Loki. What more could a power hungry snake desire?

Loki laughed softly at the mental image of his boot stepping on said snake, and headed for his throne. He was a second away from sitting when he remembered Anthony.

"Oh _skít_!"

He ran to the kitchens in a mad hope that they were still there, even hours later. He had never formed a plan with Anthony, who knows where he could have ended up. Maids and servants scattered before him, scuttling to make way for, their worried king.

"Where are they?!" He shouted, arriving to a kitchen filled with its usual inhabitants.

"My lord!"

"Sire!"

Loki hissed and they fell silent at once. "Where are the two men who came here in the morning? Anifein and my slave."

A woman spoke up from the stove, "they left as soon as they came, my lord."

The rush of anger stilled into something cold, and much more dangerous. "Left for _where_?"

The woman froze in her stirring at the ice in his voice, and glanced around at the other workers. No one came to her aid, so she turned back to answer with a bow.

"Anifein was quite angry, threatening to... k-kill him. He said something about the slave trader, and dragged the man out." She paused and looked up again, anxious tears in her eyes. "If I had known, sire, I would have stopped him! I am so—"

A thin shard of ice stopped her flow of words, and Loki was gone before the blood could melt the frozen blade.

The city was nearly empty, lunch time stealing the peddlers away from their carts and stalls. Loki knew where the slave trader sold his goods, and ran through the streets like a man chased by the demons of Hel.

_Please, please, _please_.__  
><em>_Not after I just found him again.__  
><em>_Please, fates, do not take away Anthony._

He stumbled over a lose barrel, nearly falling head first into the alley way in which Lop did his trade. He righted himself, only to fall to knees once again with a small cry of anguish.

The alley was empty, the trader had left the city, and the realm. He was too late, Anthony was gone again.


	4. Meet Your Maker

New clients came bustling in as the hour grew late, sending Molnir into a new lad was next to useless, pretty but dumb as an ox. He knew the reason for all the new visitors, but his other new worker could only accommodate so many before he fell to serious injury. He wasn't as young or smoothed skinned as the others, but from the first day he was brought in, men flocked to see him. Molnir had almost turned the royal servant away, pleading eyes and all, but one look at his merchandise's stubborn eyes was enough to settle his mind and ease the coin from his greedy hands.

It was those eyes that sold him. Amber eyes that never submitted to anyone, no matter how often his body did. They stared at him, challenging him to not do what the servant begged. So of course, he said yes, and it was the best damned purchase he had made since they opened.

Everyone wanted him and whether it was his skill, or his body, Molnir did now know, but that new man meant money.

"Járn! Another!"

"Ah..." The man rasped out from his corner, "so soon?"

"Do not complain, do your work."

The golden eyed man nodded stiffly and stood with more grace than someone of his current condition should. He had grown thinner since he arrived, something Molnir kept trying to fix, but some how he simply could not get the man to look healthy. It didn't seem to matter much to the clients, so he decided to let it be for now. If the pace of business slowed, he would lock him away to try to fatten him up a bit.

"Ah, Járn," a foreign man with soft blond hair called out. Járn stiffened, his eyes flickering to Molnir's face for only a second. But no matter how stubborn he looked, he always pulled his clients to their room, and they always left sated and happy.

It took four weeks for the man's amber eyes to grow dull and resigned,and It was at seven weeks that Molnir locked him in the closet and force fed him until he was sick. After that, only days before his first serious injury took him off the market.

He was pampered, for some time, while he rested through his injury. There was no point in breaking his best money maker. But while he was down, Molnir made sure to mark him as property of the house, in case any of his more adamant customers got any ideas of keeping him for themselves. He had gotten quite a few offers for him, already. Nothing within the price range of what Molnir was making from him now, so all were declined. The Rose brand on his shoulder should dissuade any further nonsense like that.

Járn did not return to his stubborn ways after he healed, and Molnir worried that would mean less interest in him. But it did not. In fact, whith every last inch of his resolution stolen away, Járn seemed to become only more desirable to his clients.

He would not come out for hours, sometimes days, even. More often than not, he would have to be lifted from the bed and taken to the baths by another. The man's body became a constant bruise, hardly ever without blood or violet marks across his body and sometimes Molnir was too late to stop the violence before it escalated beyond house rules. Sometimes his customers broke his best product.

The second time it happened, the entire house heard Járn's scream. It went on and on until Molnir broke the door down himself and found him under the client, who was still straddling his jerking body, even as he screamed wordlessly in pain. Something was bleeding, something was burning, and Járn's dulled eyes rolled back into his head as he fell into a faint.

It took him far too long to heal that time, almost tempting Molnir to send him into the streets for the first time since he was brought in. He didn't then, and Járn went back to work as soon as he could move again.

He lasted one more week until he broke again, and Molnir sent him to the streets after all. He would have to beg to survive, if he could not work.

* * *

><p>Loki wanted to die. No, that was inaccurate, he wanted everyone else to die. But the one person he wanted to die the most, was Anifein.<p>

Alas, Anifein was not allowed to die yet. Oh no, he had to live until Loki found Stark again. That is, if he could survive the daily treatments he received from Loki himself.

Upon his return to the castle the day he lost Stark, his trusted aid was there immediately, offering no explanation or apology. The first thing Loki took from him was his eyes, pulled right from his skull with the finest precision his claws could offer. When the man's screams grew too irksome, he ripped out his tongue. He was now hung sideways from a series of hooks in a room just off of his bedroom in the royal chambers. The king spared him the pain of puncturing his stomach, Loki wasn't an _animal, _after all.

The pain he gave was its own reward, but none of it had brought Stark back to him. His attempts to track the slave trader down all failed spectacularly. The man had no true schedule to follow, and jumped from realm to realm in search for goods in a sporadic pattern. Loki wanted nothing more than to chaise after him himself, but his country was in turmoil and needed him.

The mage, the man his people were now calling 'Thanos, the Conqueror', had raised another village in the cover of darkness. Twenty four homes, over two hundred people, gone. Their bodies had vanished just like the last village, leaving behind only the wreckage of their once peaceful lives.

The time for their planned meeting came and went, with no fruition. The second moon waned and the sun returned, but Thanos never appeared. Loki only waited so long before returning home to his castle to take his frustrations out on his new toy. Anifein nearly died that night, and Loki nearly let him.

Because, his people kept dying, and somewhere out there, was Anthony. Being sold to another and another, being used, beaten, carved into...

No, _no_. He must be found. The man could not be lost into that world again, not after so recently being pulled from it.

These thoughts keep the king from relaxing even the slightest, and Loki found himself pacing the floors at night rather than sleeping. Instead of lounging in his throne as he did before, he would be in his room searching the maps of the Nine Realms for the merchant's next possible stop. He had come so close many times already, but by the time one of his men arrived, the trader would be gone. Nearly two months had passed, at this point, and Loki's sanity was starting to wear down to a sharp and dangerous point.

He killed four servants before his council found him a substitute slave to take his aggressions out on. It wasn't until the fourth night of fucking the man till he fainted that he realized he was calling out Anthony's name.

He killed the slave, as well.

Anifein died before the summer solstice and was tossed into a crevasse, unhonored and forgotten.

Loki's anger boiled down to a dull ache in the back of his mind, cold rather than the hot rage that fueled his search. He was sure Anthony was dead by now, or so far gone by his submersion back into slavery, his mind had broken at last. He simply could not continue to search for him, not with such an enemy attacking his people. Loki was torn between two hardships, one more personal than the other, and neither any less important to him. But, he had to make a choice. He chose to forget Anthony, and try to save his kingdom.

* * *

><p>There was a child who slept in a space between two chimneys on the roof of the city's largest tavern. At least, he looked like a child, but he was wrinkled and bearded, and moved like the elderly. Many who stayed in the tavern would catch glimpses of the child-man as he crept across the rooftops back to his place above them. No one thought poorly of him, just another street rat trying to stay warm. Some would even feed him, opening their windows and leaving scraps of food out. Then, they would watch as he jumped to the window sill and ate ravenously, like a wild dog, until it was gone. He would always bow his head in thanks, and disappear afterwards.<p>

They named him Úlfur, the wolf, and he was looked after as long as he provided amusement. Some weeks, there was no sign of him, and they would try to bend and peer up at his sleeping spot, which was much too hidden for them to get a proper glimpse. Food would be left to chill and rot, and some would actually worry for their almost-pet.

Sometime later, he would appear again, skinnier, dark eyes grown more sunken. They would rejoice, larger scraps would be left out, and life would go on.

* * *

><p>The wind caught at his coat, and Loki felt the first true chill of winter in his bones. He would always be weaker to the cold than the others, half his heritage was questionable, after all.<p>

He pulled the fur-lined hood over his head and ducked down another alley way. The snow, that was usually sparse in the city, had found its way into every corner of every street. His breath rose around him like a cloud, and it singled him out from the crowd who breathed the cold with no sting to their lungs.

Today, the trader was in town, and no matter how often Loki had told himself he had forgotten Anthony, he still waited for his return.

_Had_ he forgotten everything that had passed during that short time with him?

No, it was a lie, a painful shallow lie that barely covered the hurt he felt every single day since then.

So, he carried on even though his skin burned with cold, and his heart ached with fear of the truth he was about to face.

"You chose a fine day to come visit my cart, stranger," Lop grumbled at him as the king pushed open the heavy fur covering the back of the cart. There was a chattering of chains as several slaves shivered from the gust of cold wind that followed Loki in.

"I would risk the cold to be the first to your cart since your return."

"Ah, an eager one, eh?" Lop perked up, slipping his pipe into his mouth and hopping down from his seat. "I suppose you are looking for something special, perhaps a Fire Elf? Perfect for staying warm in this weather, not that you would need it, sir."

Loki let his hood fall back, and reveled in the shock and outright terror that formed on the elf's face when he recognized his adornments. He wore his crown, low across his forehead with two small crescent horns protruding from sides. They were new, something to fuel his mad desire for sharp things as of late. He had finally lost count of the pointless people he had removed from his castle in the past month alone. They were as meaningless as their deaths, as meaningless as this elf was.

"M-my lord! _Oh_!" The elf fell to his knees and started to kiss the floor before his feet, dropping his pipe in his haste to grovel.

"Tell me of the slave that was returned to you this spring. Where did you leave him?"

"Slave? Your... Oh, of course!" Lop stood quickly and shuffled over to a cage in the far back of the wagon. There was a clink of a key in the lock, and a whimper came from the dark.

Loki's heart raced in anticipation.

_Could it be true? Could the trader still have Anthony with him, even now?_

He stepped forward, too eager to wait by the door as the elf brought forward a figure.

She was beautiful, skin white as bone with large black eyes that stared at him in fear. The elf began to babble of her past, of her quality, before Loki stepped forward and slit her throat with a single slash from his hand. His mouth contorted into a nasty grin as her pretty, pale skin blossomed with red and her dark eyes faded as her life left her body with a gargle of blood.

Lop screamed and bolted for the door, but Loki was quick and shot one long leg out, sending him flying into another cage. He was crying, now, large diamond tears, that his kind were well known for, trailing down his face. They clattered when they hit the floor, and between the sounds of precious stones falling to waste and the terrified cries of Lop, Loki growled.

The slaves held their chains close to their chests, for fear that any noise would draw the rage-filled beast's attention to them. Blood pooled, already beginning to cool, and the smell of copper filled the wagon. Loki looked around at them, his red eyes devoid of emotion. He left them there, still locked in their cages with a corpse as their keeper.

* * *

><p>The only thing his trip to the trader had earned him was another possible place to find Anthony. As soon as he heard the name fall from the elf's lips, bile rose in his throat.<p>

The Rose, owned by Molnir the Sly, known for the best sexual services in the city. There were so few rules in place, The Rose went through slaves faster than Loki did himself. Only the good ones, the talented ones, could last long there.

Loki hoped Anthony was talented enough to last, or The Rose would burn tonight.

He did not bother hiding who he was, but entered in a gust of wind, and a shout to the owner, "MOLNIR!"

Molnir scuttled to his aid immediately, not groveling to the floor as Lop had, but close. "My lord, how may I please you?"

"Where is the bearded man, brought here in the spring by my servant?"

"Járn? Do you mean the one with the golden eyes?"

Loki's lips tightened at the name they had given him, but gave a sharp nod.

The way Molnir's blue skin paled to an almost gray was enough to tell him all he needed to know. His hand twitched for the owner's throat, and Molnir screeched before he could grab him, stumbling away.

"He is still in the city! I have seen him!" he cried out, crawling backwards to get away from Loki.

"Where?" Loki snarled, still advancing on the man.

"H-he... around the taverns, sire. The rooftops. They call him Úlfur, now."

Loki flashed a sharp grin and continued to move closer.

"That is all I know!" Molnir screeched again, his panic rising.

"Amusing," Loki replied, flexing his clawed hand. "That you should think your words are worth your life."

"P-please! Sire, if I had only known!"

"Leave him be!" came a voice from the side, and Loki turned to see a young Jötunn woman glaring at him. She was small, but her bravery gave her presence.

Loki sneered and asked, "and why, pray tell, should I let him live, child?"

"Boss took care of him, he did his _best_."

Loki tilted his head at the young girl and gave her a smile filled with venom. "I suppose you are willing to take his place, then. Since you do nothing to aid him, I assume."

She paled, and her short, skinny arms began to shake. Her head shook, "no," and she backed away, giving Molnir an apologetic look.

Loki returned his gaze to the owner and spoke, "I will let you live, if only because you gave him a roof over his head. But if you make a single mistake such as this again, you will watch me kill everyone one of your whores before you welcome death yourself."

Molnir swallowed, and gave a shaky nod of agreement. Loki hissed at the man and spun around, leaving The Rose once more. He promised himself he would burn it, depending on the condition he found Anthony in.

His heart was racing again, this time in fear. What would he find, when he finally got ahold of Anthony again? How broken could a man get before he was a man no more?

Loki paused, his hand covering his heart as if to keep it from breaking from his chest.

Find him. Just _find_ him.

Loki began to run, just a jog at first, and then faster and faster. He was slipping and sliding around corners, jumping over people and carts. He flew through the streets, until he tired of the shrieks of those he bolted past and took to the rooftops. He leapt across wide gaps, slid down the slanted roofs, sending shingles shattering to the ground. He finally skidded to a stop by the main tavern, the jump much too far for him to make it. But, as he was eyeing the roof for some sort of purchase, his eyes fell on a pile of trash.

The pile of trash was moving, shuddering unnaturally.

Loki clambered back to the peak of the roof he was on, and started back down at a full run. A snarl escaped him as he leapt from the edge and dove for the lip of the next building. He landed hard, the gutter driving up into his ribs, and he felt something inside snap. But he did not care, and dug his claws into the tiles, dragging himself up at last.

The bundle of rags had buried itself deeper between two chimneys, small whimpering sounds like a wounded animal coming from the shadows from where it hid. Loki approached carefully, one hand hovering over his broken rib, the other reaching out in a peaceful gesture. The bundled mewled in fear and tried to make itself as small as possible.

Loki could not trust his voice, and his breath caught painfully in his chest when he fell to his knees. As he waited, the sky opened above them, and it began to snow. He had lost his cape somewhere in his journey, and his bare skin began to grow speckled with white. Still, he waited, until the bundle stopped shaking and one golden eye peered out at him.

"_Anthony_," he rasped, his chest aching all the more.

Another golden eye appeared, then a dirty, red nose, a matted beard, and bruised fingers pulled back the coverings.

"Who... are you?"

Loki's heart stopped, and if his voice wavered now, he did not care. "Tis me, Anthony. Loki... you're friend."

The man crawled forward slowly, his limbs moving in slow, jerky movements. Loki could see where some fingers had gone black with the cold, and others were bent at odd angles. His face was gaunt under the beard, even his facial hair was thin and lacking. A tongue darted out over cracked lips, and he spoke again, "Loki...?"

"Yes, Anthony... Anthony, I never meant for you to be taken away. I did not order it to be so!"

The golden eyes widened, and the man shuffled closer again, leaving the shadows at last. "Loki... are you real?"

"I am."

Loki reached both hands out to him, his arms shaking as the cold started to set in at last. But he did not care, could not care. This was his Anthony, and he had been cold for so much longer.

Thin hands grasped his, and Anthony let out a sharp gasp of disbelief at the touch. His eyes flicked up from their joined hands to meet Loki's, and his face twitched. Loki held his breath as the man before him tried to smile for what must have been the first time in many months.

"Loki, you came for me," he rasped, his lips widening further. They cracked, and there was blood, and Loki let out a soft cry before pulling his friend into his arms. Anthony hissed in pain or fear, but Loki would not let go, not this time.

"I will never lose you again," he promised, and clung to Anthony as though he was the one needing comfort, not the abused man in his arms. He did not know how, but that frozen body against his was enough to melt the spike of ice Loki had held in his heart since he has lost his friend a second time.

"_Never_ again," he repeated, and brought Anthony home.


	5. Teach a Man to Fish

**Chapter warnings: Smut**

* * *

><p>"Lift your arms."<p>

There was a grumble, and no lifting happened.

"Lift them, you stubborn dwarf," Loki commanded again, and when there was no answer, he yanked the man's arms above his head and ignored the painful screech that escaped Stark's lips. "Well if you had _listened_..."

"My lord..." Loki narrowed his eyes, he tried again, "L-Loki..."

Loki scowled, dropping the arms once more, and sat back on his heels. He had known the second he lay eyes on him, that it would be no easy task in healing his old friend. Anthony was a mess, no, he was utterly _broken, _and when Loki first inspected his body, everything he found under the dirt and grime was battered and ugly. To make matters worse, every touch was greeted with a flinch, or a cry of pain that struck Loki somewhere in his chest.

Bruising, scars, festering wounds, and cold almost dead fingers. He had healed the broken bones of his fingers, a rib, and some of the wider cuts across his back that Loki had a feeling came from the proprietor of the Rose. The rest would be bandaged after the bath, if Loki could get Anthony clean without earning more cries of pain. It was wonder the man was even alive. Then again, this was Anthony, and he was not one to roll over and welcome death, no matter how terrible the days became.

_Perhaps that stubbornness was not such a good thing_, Loki pondered as he looked him over once more.

"If you cannot even move your arms, then at least go further into the water," he insisted, pulling his own tunic over his head and tossing it to the side. Anthony blinked up from where he sat on the first steps leading into Loki's personal bath and didn't move an inch. Loki let out a resigned sigh, and eyed the deep, in-ground pool of hot water. It was his prized possession, with taps that ran along the edge, hot water constantly filtering through in a steady stream. The rim was also lined with bottles of oils, soaps, elvish hair conditioners, even a rare frayed-hair treatment from the dwarfs. It was his small oasis, the one place everyone and anyone was absolutely forbidden to enter.

It was also precious because he was not a pure blooded Jötunn, and Loki was the only one in the kingdom who not only desired such a hot bath, but physically needed it. He got cold, where the others did not, and his fist few months back, he had suffered frostbitten fingers and toes. The issue with that, was that he took longer to heal if he did not use his magic, and the use of magic was generally frowned upon by his people.

'Magic was not for the proud race of Jötunns, magic was for the elves, or the _women_ of Asgard.'

Only the casket was worshiped for its powers, and Loki could not help but openly scoff at the hypocrisy of it all. To trust in a mere object, with no will or ability to reason, and not their king? Not he, who could heal their wounds, mend their homes, or even bring light when it was dark. Loki was often reminded of the words Odin once muttered when Loki's father brought Loki to Asgard and left him there.

'_Madness_.'

A single word, so heavy with sadness and disappointment, nearly drove him to tears at the time. At the time, Loki thought it was about him. He knew better now, he knew the different weights to his disappointment, and how much heavier it was when it _was_ directed at him.

Loki shook his head, kicking his trousers away before stepping past the statue of a friend, and easing into the water. He hissed in both pain and pleasure, his frozen toes burning from the sudden change in temperature. Anthony had taken much longer to get to even dipping a toe in the hot bath, having to start with cool water before moving warmer and warmer.

The man's lack of exclamation when Loki touched him was a sharp change from their previous experiences, and Loki was worried he may have more healing to do before the night was over. He had a feeling, that by the end of this, he would be more exhausted than Anthony was now, and that would be a very bad thing. Now was not the time to sleep away the day, not when there was still an enemy, not when his entire realm was relying on his leadership.

_If there is anyone left to follow me_, he thought darkly, his fingers curling into fists.

"Are you hurt?" Anthony asked suddenly, his amber eyes wide and staring through his messy hair. Loki shook his head and settled in on the step beside him, looking him over once again.

"Anthony," he spoke slowly, holding a hand up tentatively, "I will need to touch you to clean you, may I do that?"

Instead of tensing up, as he did those times before, Anthony stood from the waist high water and sloshed through the water to press right into Loki's personal space. Loki choked slightly, having trouble keeping his eyes above the man's belly. It didn't help that he was now standing directly in front of him and that a certain something—he might have had on his mind off and on over the years—was now at eye level.

"You can touch me," he answered at last, and much to Loki's surprise, swung his legs over his lap and straddled his thighs with his hands resting on Loki's shoulders.

"_Anthony_?" Loki breathed, staring up in disbelief at the shaggy looking man. This was not normal, not that it wasn't pleasing, no, but it was certainly not _normal_. "What are you doing?"

"Letting you touch me," he responded flatly, sliding closer to Loki's torso. His hips were already grinding down into Loki's groin before he let out a growl and pushed him back slowly, but firmly. He did not want to scare the man.

"Why are you doing this so suddenly? I do not require this..."

"Loki..."

Loki scrubbed a trembling hand over his face, not enjoying the unpleasant burn of his cheeks. Was he... was he _blushing_?! Oh, by the Norns. His imagination was already running through some past day-dreams revolving around the man in his lap, but the reality was far from ideal. Yet... this was _not_ how he imagined having Anthony touching him. Not battered and bruised, his mind clearly addled from his time in the Rose. He wanted something sweeter, rough and maybe a little painful, but sweet all the same.

"Anthony, you do not need to please me... in such ways," he began carefully, looking the man in the eye even as Stark slid a little closer again. "I made a promise to you, and I shall uphold it till the day I die. I will not touch you unless you wish me—"

"I _want _you to," Stark interrupted, and before Loki could tell him, 'no, you just think you do,' Anthony cupped his jaw in his hands and pressed his cold lips against his own.

Loki did not move, not a single muscle, not even a twitch of an eye. He knew that if he did, he would melt into the kiss, and give It his all. He would dominate Anthony's mouth, steal his breath from him till he, himself, was forced to pull away for air. But no, he could not move, he _should_ not respond.

The words of his promise repeated through his mind until Anthony moaned a soft, needy sound into his mouth and raked his rough fingers through Loki's hair. It was too much, all was lost.

With a guttural snarl, Loki carted his own hand through Anthony's hair, gripping the back of his neck as he tilted the man's head to delve into the kiss with all the passion and _want_ he had kept to himself every night he thought of the man. The needy sounds increased, as did the grinding of Anthony's hips. Closer and closer, until Loki gasped at the heat of the man's cock against his own.

Perhaps his confused friend needed to please a 'master', as if he was expected to. But to be greeted with such an obvious sign of pleasure... that was permission, right?

Another rocking motion against him and Loki found that he no longer cared. Anthony was here, in his lap, he wanted this, and Loki would give him what he wanted.

"Come, lift yourself for me," he coached gently, his body radiating a strange mix of calm and excitement. He wanted to pounce, to tear into this man like no other, but another part of him wanted to treasure him, touch him like one would worship a goddess. When Anthony obliged, lifting his body away from Loki's thighs, he snapped a finger, and one of the smaller pots appeared on his hand.

"Stay like this," he commanded, dipping his fingers into the pot and stirring them around. He was finding it hard to tear his gaze away from those eyes, even to look at what he was doing. They were so focused, so present, and filled with such raw emotion.

He was forced to look down when he slipped his fingers between the cleft of his cheeks and began to coat the entrance with the honey-smelling oil. A soft gasp made him glance up again, and he smirked at the widened eyes boring into his own.

"Is it too cold?" He teased, not bothering to stop running a finger around the tightened ring of muscle.

"N-no... just not used to... _this_."

"No? Did they never..." He trailed off, realizing what he meant, and regretting ever knowing. "Those brutes... that scum! They—!"

Anthony shook his head, and under the shaggy hair, Loki could see a flush crawling up the man's neck to his cheeks. "It's fine... it's fine, now. This is... nice. It feels good."

Loki frowned, and continued to watch his face in silence. It was too late to stop now, not now that they were both aching with need. Perhaps it was just the thing Anthony needed to wipe the memories of that place from his mind, and erase the signs of their touch upon his body. Loki would wipe him clean of all reminders of their heinous acts against him, Loki would show him how sex was _supposed_ to feel.

He forced back a grimace as a small voice in the back of his head reminded him of the nights he had taken slaves to bed, his mind filled with Anthony, and how he found himself unable to sleep until he tired himself out with their bodies. He had cried out Anthony's name every time, and each morning he had been met with the reality of the empty bed. No one but Anthony had ever been allowed to stay in his bed, even if it was only for such a short time. It was all rather confusing , to say the least, and he spent many of the mornings promising himself he would not cry his name again, that he must move on and forget he ever slept so soundly next to his old friend.

But he had not moved on, and now Anthony was above him, accepting his touch as easily as Loki accepted his. Loki would not, could not deny himself this any longer, and with that thought, his finger breached the ring of muscle and started to press deeper.

He had almost expected silence, as many of his slaves offered him, but what he got instead was the delicious moan of his name instead. It tumbled from his lips so easily, the king could not help but wonder if Anthony had ever cried his name like this before.

"Tell me, have you had thoughts of me inside of you like this?" He coaxed from him, curling his finger inside a little unkindly. Anthony's eyes went wide and his mouth opened to let out a wordless moan. Loki was not a patent man, and buried his finger in deeper, eyes narrowing as he awaited his answer.

The man squirmed a little and answered hesitantly, "M-maybe..."

"When? For how long?"

"Nnnpossibly..." He ducked his head with a groan and ground down on to the probing finger. "Possibly... since I was younger..."

Loki's breath hitched, and a wildly embarrassing sound escaped his throat. "So Long... so much time." He unconciously pressed in deeper, and the flush deepened across Anthony's face.

With a roll of his hips, Anthony hissed, "yeeesssss... hurry, more... _please_, master..."

Loki stopped his teasing finger and stared at him, a shudder crawling up his spine. He honestly could not tell if he was pleased by the word, or revolted. A quick look over Anthony's panting, flushed face prompted him to ignore it for now. They could talk later, _much_ later, perhaps tomorrow.

"Raise yourself, my pet, for I am just as impatient."

Anthony did as he was told, lifting himself away from Loki's fingers and balancing himself with his hands on Loki's shoulders. Loki stared up at him in mild wonder, biting his lip as he lubricated his cock with a few, quick strokes. He stared longer than he should have, and a seed of doubt began to form in his stomach. He was vulnerable, and he knew if anyone would be his downfall, it would be Anthony.

_That had always been the way, why should it not be so now?_

Loki's fingers gripped those far-too-thin hips and eased him down slowly. Anthony's eyes were on him again, embarrassment made apparent by the flush spreading down his chest, and Loki felt a mild awe that he could make a man of Stark's experience still blush. Loki met his eyes with challenge, asking one final time if he was sure, expecting a nod or a 'yes' to confirm. Instead, he forced himself down over Loki's cock with a sharp grunt. Loki twitched in surprise at the sudden heat engulfing still just the tip, and let out a growl.

Half-blood or no, Anthony still ran far hotter than Loki's own body temperature. This was going to hurt, and it would be _glorious_.

"Loki, i'm fine," Anthony muttered, cupping Loki's chin in an oddly affectionate gesture. Loki's brow furrowed at the man's sudden ease at touching him, but found he could not bring himself to fret about it any longer. He was, after all, halfway inside the man and it was a rather intimate situation, especially for Loki. He never moved this slowly, he never felt or expressed concern for those he fucked. This was different, this mattered to him, and the mere thought of what that meant made Loki uncomfortable.

His hips bucked up sharply, as if to prove to himself that this _wasn't_ different, forcing out a startled cry from Anthony that was too painful to be due to pleasure alone. Loki slowed before he thought about it, and captured the man's lips to distract him from the pain. Anthony purred into the kiss, his tongue making its journey past Loki's lips as he tilted his head for more access. His beard scratched Loki's skin, and he knew his face would be raw from it later. It did not matter, all that mattered was the delicious heat of the body above him, the tight muscles pressing around his cock, the wet, languid kisses they were sharing.

"Anthony..."

"Mmh?"

Loki hesitated, his head pulling back ever so slightly. His eyes flicked up, met gold, and something in them struck him just as he lifted the man by his hips and thrust himself into Anthony as deeply as he could.

The man mewled, his head jerking back to expose the lines of tendons down his throat. Loki did not move, other than to grind himself in further, his hands pushing Anthony's thighs apart for better access.

"I have wanted to do this for many years," he mumbled, leaning up to run a tongue long the straining muscles of his neck. His hips twisted and he loosened his grip on Anthony's sides to begin gently bouncing him over his cock.

Anthony's head was still tipped back, eyes half closed as he replied in a breathless voice, "H-how... Lo-looonnng have y-you?"

Loki did not answer, as he was not ready to reveal that part of himself just yet. He should not have said anything alluding to that at all, but perhaps Loki could dislodge his comment from Anthony's memory.

With a nasty smirk, Loki lifted Anthony completely off of him, lined his cock with his entrance, and sunk his body downward again. Even though it made him wince, even as Anthony's body heat burned down his cock and across his thighs, he continued to pull him down, down, down until Loki was fully sheathed inside.

Once again, he had expected little reaction from a man of his previous profession. But no, Anthony writhed over him, the most exciting moans escaping him.

"How long have you... thought of _me_?" He was asking again, focusing his full attention on Loki. The king grimaced and instead of answering, gave another experimental thrust upwards. Those golden eyes fluttered closed as he whimpered with pleasure.

Yes, that is what he wanted, more of those sounds, no more questions.

Loki was about to initiate further movement himself, when Anthony began to lift himself up and grind down again. His fingers curled into the flesh of Loki's shoulders as he began to ride him in quick, almost painful, thrusts. What finally drove him mad was how every grind against his cock ended with a little, playful twist that forced a hungry moan out past his lips.

Of course he would be good at this, he was well versed in pleasing others with his body. The sudden thought of him doing the same movement for others sickened Loki enough for him to lose his concentration, and he turned his head away from those staring, golden eyes as he tried to gather his thoughts.

_It didn't matter_, he told himself, Anthony had been _his_ for far longer than he had been theirs. No one knew their secrets, or his likes, and no one could ever take care of him as well as he could. This wasn't just another fuck to ease his tension, he wanted Anthony to... he wanted him...

_To what? What do I want?_

"You are thinking way too much," Anthony's voice interrupted in his ear, and Loki twitched when the lobe was bit suddenly.

He hissed and bucked up violently, his nails digging into Anthony's back. "_Again_, do it again."

"Like this?"

And another bite pierced the sensitive skin right under his ear. The reaction was instantaneous, and wholly unexpected. Loki whimpered, tilting his head to the side to expose more of his neck to be bitten. Not once in all his time on Jotunheim, in all his years _alive_, had he ever allowed a slave to do this such a thing to him. No one was allowed to touch him, never mind _bite_ him. How could he have known the raw pleasure it would drive through him, the feverish desire for more, more, more!

Another bite, lower this time and much harder against his skin, sent Loki into a rather embarrassing, and uncoordinated frenzy of thrusts into the man. Anthony was whispering something into his neck, his breath heating the skin between his lips. Loki could feel the tension building between them, the heat pooling in his stomach.

It was even more embarrassing how easily Anthony had driven him to this point, and for the sake of his pride, he would be sure to blame it on exhaustion later.

"Loki... Loki... LokiLoki... _Loki_..."

He almost froze when he realized it was his name Anthony was whispering, as if in prayer, and a new kind of heat washed over him. Something unfamiliar, something he would think about later.

"Anthony," he whispered back, one hand sliding through the dampened tangle of hair to pull the man's head back. At some point, Anthony had slowed his movements, letting Loki take over, and Loki could see the tiredness in the lines of his face. He could also see a spark of life in those eyes of his that he had feared may never come back again. It drew him in, and stole away all control he had over his body.

He came like that, buried deep inside of him, mouth grinding against Anthony's, and a low grunt passing between his lips as he kissed him. Neither of them even touched the man's cock before Anthony's own seed spilled over both their chests. Anthony pulled his head back to cry out, Loki's name echoing off the walls.

Then, it was calm. Only the sounds breathing, and the constant stream of water trickling into the bath.

Loki stared up at him, seeing but not seeing what was before him. Sweat had pearled on bruised skin, hair damp and flat against his forehead. Anthony's lips were still parted, still gasping for breath, still red from their kiss, and Loki caught himself thinking he was beautiful.

No, he was dirty and in dire need of a hair cut. Not _beautiful_.

_What is it you want_?'

Anthony laughed suddenly, a breathless chuckle that caught Loki off guard. There had never been laughter during sex, nothing cheerful or playful as that. Loki had laughed when he was merciless to his slaves, when he hurt them, when they cried. He had laughed at their pain with no real humor, and ignored the fear in the eyes that looked up at him.

But, once again, Anthony had given him something new, and that warmth crawled right back into his chest. It stayed there as his lips twitched into a rare, honest smile.

'_What do you want from him?_' The voice asked again, and Loki decided he would think about it when he was alone, when he could form logical thoughts again.

"Sleep, we should sleep," he mumbled, and Anthony simply nodded, a grin still fixed on his face.

Loki scooped him right up into his arms, shuddering when the coolness of the air hit his cock as he pulled out. Anthony groaned softly and went limp in his arms, those golden eyes closing at last. He left the bath behind them, and brought Anthony right to his bed, tucking him into the furs and covers so deeply that only the mess of hair was visible. Loki stared down for a long moment before he, too, crawled in next to him and closed his eyes.

This was different, something new, and Loki could still not find a name for it even as he dozed off into a dreamless sleep.


	6. The Comforter and the Comforted

Loki woke to a warm bed and a sense that all was well in the realm, but it was not the pleasant warmth he expected, and the nice feelings ended as soon as he remembered he was king of a realm under attack, and his treasured friend had been abused horribly, _again_. But, where was that small body that had been curled up next to him when he went to sleep? The space beside him had long since gone cold.

"Mmm..." Loki moaned, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. "Anthony?"

He frowned at the lack of a response and pulled a deep-red blanket around him before slipping out of the bed. The cold stone beneath his feet shocked him fully awake as he peered around the room in the early morning light. There were only so many places for the man to hide, and Loki highly doubted he would have left the king's chambers, not after what happened last time. So, the first place he checked was the desk, ducking his head under the finely carved wood to find nothing but a stray parchment lost some nights before. Heaving a sigh, he straightened up with another look around the room. He was too exhausted to bother with magic, and the many years of intolerance to his arts made it difficult to use it, even in the comfort of his own quarters. He would simply have to look for him the hard way, the chillier way.

If he was not under the desk, then that left the closet, the bathing room, or under the bed, since the second room was locked up after Loki finished his work with his old servant. It would be very worrisome if he had somehow managed to wedge himself under something and gotten stuck. The hiding oneself was not a sign of good health, which worried loki more than he was willing to admit. That was what small animals did when they were sick, or about to die.

"Anthony, please come out. There's no need to hide from me."

As soon as he spoke again, he heard it. The small shuffle of fabric from the far corner of his room, the sound of someone shifting their body. It wasn't under the bed, at least, but Anthony had somehow managed to make himself into a tiny ball, wedging between the end of the bed and the washing stand. Loki approached carefully, and stopped to kneel before the huddled figure of Anthony, naked under a single blanket.

"Anthony... why have you left my—our bed?" He asked calmly, waiting for him to meet his gaze.

"Too... too soft."

"I find it unlikely that the hard floor is more comfortable."

"Used to it."

Loki opened his mouth to ask what he meant, and then remembered. Of course... he had been sleeping in a corner,just as this, for weeks now. Tucked away against the cold with nothing but his ragged clothes and the heat of the chimneys against his back. Pain pierced his chest where there had once been that comfortable warmth. He had been fooled, last night, into thinking all was well. No, he was the one who had managed to fool himself.

Here Anthony was after what they had done last night, spending the night on the floor as far away from Loki as possible. He had been wrong. What he thought would help clearly only sent the man further way from him, rather than closer.

What a fool, what an utter selfish fool. Amends must be made, clearly. Loki would have to take things at Anthony's chosen pace, and perhaps keep a better eye on him. That is, if he had time.

_Let us not forget the mage, Loki. Truly, where do your damned priorities lie? _

Loki smiled bitterly to himself, and reached out his arms for Anthony, offering his own blanket to him. "Anthony, you cannot sleep here tonight, understand? Now, come with me back to the bed so we may get you warm before we attempt to feed you."

Anthony shook his head, 'no' a few times, but crawled into his arms all the same. Even to Loki's cooler body, the man's skin was freezing against his, causing Loki to tsk and lift him into his arms unceremoniously.

"What are you—?!" Anthony squawked. "P-please!"

"Do you even know what you are saying please for?" Loki asked softly, carrying him over to the bed and crawling back into it with him. He lay the shivering man down next to him, pulling the furs up over them both and pressing his naked body against him just as he had last night. The shivering increased, and the man fell silent once more instead of responding. Silence was well and fine, but Loki had hoped Anthony would relax more, instead of remaining stiffly curled up against Loki.

"Calm yourself," he whispered against Anthony's shoulder. "No one will hurt you here."

Loki was surprised when Anthony replied, "Someone always does."

"No, not anymore. I promise you—"

"You promised me before—twice, actually, and look where _that_ got me."

Loki froze, his eyes staring at the dark mess of curls in front of his face. It was true, but to hear it from his lips was more painful than Loki was willing to admit. He had tried, he _actually_ tried. He didn't bother with most things, it was either remove said thing if dysfunctional, or get a new one. But no one could replace Anthony, he knew, he tried. But he also looked for the man himself, on foot in a city of people who never truly liked him, who now hated him more for the mage and _his_ destruction. He had done that for Stark, and it was more than he had done for anyone, ever.

His words failed him, for once, and all that was left for him to do was stare at the back of the man's head and force down that roaring wave of guilt for failing him. For letting his precious friend get hurt under his watch.

As if sensing his discomfort, Anthony turned around in his arms to face him, his brows pinched together as he studied Loki's face. Loki, however, could not bring himself to meet his eye after a quick glance, instead focusing a little to the right. A frown formed when he noticed a thick, gold loop pierced through the lobe, the skin around it looking red and infected. It was yet another sign of ownership, and not a common one. Someone had planned to _keep_ Anthony at some point, and Loki wondered what had gone wrong that time.

"I didn't mean that."

Loki twitched and focused back on the man, rather than the ear. "Pardon?"

"I'm not actually... blaming you for the s-shit I've gone through," Anthony spoke slowly, still studying Loki with that serious expression. "That's not... fair."

"It is more than fair, I failed you time and time again."

"No."

Loki shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed, feeling far too vulnerable with Stark staring at him like that.

"I mean it, you know I wouldn't be in your bed, even now, if I didn't trust you."

"Trust and forgiveness do not necessarily go hand and hand."

"For me they do," Anthony replied softly, and Loki's eyes opened when a chilly hand brushed against his cheek. "Anyone else... if it was anyone else, I d-don't think I could..."

Loki hummed softly, pressing close enough to bump their foreheads together. The level of comfort seemed to have only increased since their actions last night, even if he found the man huddled in the corner. Was that not from him, then? Perhaps the bed truly was too soft...

"Why do you trust me?" He asked weakly, hating himself for sounding so insecure.

"Because you are Loki."

"I'm a monster."

Anthony made an aggravated sound and bumped their heads together a little harder. "You are not!"

"I am, I've done horrible things. I've killed and let die too many souls for me to count."

"So?"

"_So_?" Loki hissed desperately. "How can one trust me while knowing that?"

There was a silence after this, and Loki clenched his eyes closed even tighter, dreading the answer.

"Loki... do you think I am still that innocent child you used to know?" Anthony asked suddenly, his voice tight. "After you saw my body, after everything I've done, after what you saw me _do_, do you truly think that killing a few people is monstrous to _me_?" He laughed bitterly and leaned away, the cold seeping in between their bodies. "No, Loki, if anyone is the monster, it's me."

Loki's eyes snapped open, his hands clutching at the man's arms to keep him from pulling further away. "No, no. Please don't think that. You are not, you are—"

"A slave?" Anthony interrupted, his golden eyes dark and weary. "A toy, a tool, even? Disposable, worthless but for my _fucking_ body." Loki tried to speak again, but was forced to stay silent as Stark continued on, his voice almost hysterical, "I'm scarred, I'm dirty, I'm r-ruined. The things I've seen and done are not human, not sane. I'm a monster..." His eyes had grown wider and wider as he spoke, his voice rising into a shriek now. "I'm a monster! That's all I am!"

"You are _NOT_!" Loki shouted at him, his fingers digging into the flesh of the thin arms still in his grasp. The wild anger in Anthony's eyes fled instantly, replaced with and old fear. He didn't struggle to get away, but went the sort of limp an animal does when it knows there's nothing it can do. Rolling over to show its belly, letting the beast claw out its innards.

Bile rose up Loki's throat and it burned almost as much as the hot shame that flooded his insides. He had done it again, frightened the man, treated him as he would any other slave. No, he had been much more gentle to him than any other slave, but Anthony was like glass, and far too easily broken.

He let go quickly, staring at the man with his own fear. Would he leave, now? Run away to his rooftop and never come back? Had Loki just broken that trust all over again?

"It's... alright."

Loki blinked at him, opened his mouth, shut it again, and blinked some more.

"It's alright," Anthony repeated, staring at him with the same widened eyes. A hint of a smile touched the corner of his lips, but it was but a small thing and no great comfort to Loki. He had ruined everything with his anger, as usual. If he had been more careful, more attentive, he would not have lost those villages. If he had only been more gentle, calm, Anthony would not be staring at him like... he was a _monster_.

"Loki..."

"No," he choked out, pushing himself away sharply and shaking his head.

"Loki, it's—"

"Stop it!" He snapped, covering his face with his hands. "Don't lie just to please me. Everyone does so and you... you cannot. S-stop l-lying..."

Before he knew what was happening, he was pulled into Anthony's arms, face pressed against the sharp edges of the thin chest in front of him. The gesture was too trusting, too kind, and Loki could not hold back the small, miserable sound that escaped him then. Then, he started to cry. Deep, painful sobs wracking through his body so harshly he shook with every one. He cried harder than he could ever remember, years of tears pouring out of him at once, soaking into the sheets below him.

And all the while, Anthony held him close, muttering soothing things and running one hand through Loki's hair. The other rested firmly on his back, and Loki knew that if it were gone, if Anthony was not there holding him together, he would have fallen apart into nothing but dust.

His Anthony was holding him, comforting him.

Soothing the undeserving _monster_.

* * *

><p>Breakfast was a strange affair. Loki had never felt so embarrassed and awkward in his life, which was a high contrast to his companion right now.<p>

Anthony was smiling—no—absolutely grinning from ear to ear. It was an expression Loki had not seen on any grown man, never mind Stark, and he could not stop staring at him. It made him forget the ache in his chest, it washed out the fear and worry about his kingdom, it even nearly made him smile, himself.

"Youff gonna eat?" He was asked through a mouthful of food.

"I... perhaps—what has you so cheerful suddenly? You are honestly starting to frighten me a bit."

Anthony looked up from his plate, half a sausage and a chunk of potato still hanging from his mouth. His cheeks were already stuffed with food, and he continued to shove more in before swallowing the mass in a single gulp.

"I feel better, plus, food."

"You feel _better_?" Loki questioned, leaning closer to inspect him. He really did seem better now, his skin taking on a slight flush, his eyes bright behind that mess of hair that just had to go. He was almost vibrating with energy, and still grinning like a fool. "How have you managed this? I did nothing to help you, yet here you sit as though—"

"Maybe you didn't have to do anything, except crying on me."

Loki huffed, pulling back with a deep purple blush spreading across his cheeks. He narrowed his red eyes at him and said, "we will never speak of that again, understood?"

Anthony popped another sausage in his mouth and replied inelegantly past the chewed up mess in his mouth, "why not? You feel better too, right? I mean, I'm not about to go yelling your secrets from the rooftops or anything."

"It is highly undignified to cry," Loki grumbled. "I am a king, for heavens sake."

"Not to me."

"Well thank you for that, I'm glad to see my leadership is tarnished even in your eyes," Loki drawled with a hint of hurt in his voice. The ache was crawling back into his chest, but what could he do?

Anthony chucked a sausage at him, that bounced off his forehead and somehow managed to land impressively on Loki's empty plate. "That's not what I meant, you prat. I mean you're Loki to me, just Loki. I've made you cry a lot as kids, if I remember correctly, so I'm kind of used it it." He paused, fiddling with his fork as he thought back on it. "Maybe that's why I feel better."

"Because I cried? Truly?"

"Because it was familiar," Anthony modified, glancing across the table to look Loki over. "I mean, you're hardly the little brat I used to know."

Loki's lips tilted into a half smirk, and he delicately plucked the sausage up before whipping it across the table at the man. But Stark was too quick for him, and sent the thing flying with a swift hand. "You are still very much the _little_ brat I grew up with," Loki purred, suddenly leaning forward to pile food up on his plate. Not to eat, oh no, but as an arsenal. He felt a war coming on.

"Yes, yes. I'm small in some aspects," Anthony replied, waving his fork aimlessly. "But you cannot deny that certain things _have_ grown since childhood."

Loki scoffed, "grown to match your short stature, for sure. You are the one who felt how much I've grown."

A boiled egg made for his face, and Loki batted it out of the air with a vicious grin. "What, did I say something wrong?"

Anthony chuckled and shook his head, but his cheeks had definitely gone a few shades darker. Blushing over such things was highly uncommon for anyone in Anthony's situation. Well, his past situation. There would be no more of that, never again.

"I see I was wrong, after all."

"Hmm?" Loki grunted, focusing back on the man before him. He was playing with a piece of toast now, and Loki watched it carefully.

"You're an even bigger brat!" And the toast came his way, smacking Loki squarely in the chest with a wet thump. Butter side down, of course.

Loki sneered as he pulled the bread away and dropped it on the plate, glaring down at the oily mess dribbling down his blue skin. "You better have plans for cleaning this all up."

"Me?" Anthony asked innocently. "I haven't done a thing."

"You absolute—!"

_Thwap_!

Loki snarled past the mess of potatoes and egg sliding down his face and stood up, taking his entire plate and dashing around the table to dump it on Stark's face. The man squealed as he got close, leaping out of his seat to get away. But Loki was too fast for him, sending him tumbling back onto the table, finally managing to shove the entire contents of his own plate of food into Anthony's shirt.

"Oh come on now, that's not fair!"

"My egg-covered face says otherwise. In fact..." Loki leaned over him, pinning his arms to his sides with a smirk. "You owe me quite a bit more."

Anthony squirmed playfully, and made a point of grinding his body against Loki's in a way that was clearly no accident. A growl escaped him, and Loki pressed down harder, brushing their lips together twice before finally stealing a kiss. The writhing stopped as they locked lips, and a shiver crawled down Loki's spine when Anthony let out a pleased moan.

"Nnghh, Loki..."

"Yes?" He replied against his lips.

"So I still have to clean you off, now?"

Loki leaned up with a dirty grin, just enough to point out the oily spot on his chest from the butter."I have a few suggestions for cleaning materials."

Anthony leaned up, asking coyly, "do you now? Care to share?"

"Well, I was thinking—"

"My lord!"

Loki's head snapped up just in time to see the door open, but not enough time to move away or change his position

The young foot soldier to Loki's head general stumbled in, his voice loud in the now silent room. "My king, you... oh..."

Loki shifted away from Anthony to level a glare that could have burned the man from the inside-out of he so wished it. He was still deliberating over it, since he didn't want. "You are here to tell me something, I presume, so spit it out and begone."

"It is... there has been another attack, sire."

All the warmth that had slowly started to melt the ice around Loki's heart faded at those words. Again, yet again, while he partook in frivolous activities, his people were harmed. He should be more angry at the source of his distraction, but... Anthony was standing beside, one hand resting on Loki's wrist in a small show of support. It was odd to find such a simple touch so calming, but it kept the more painful waves of guilt and self hatred away. He couldn't bring up even an ounce of anger for the man after all. It wasn't his fault, it was Loki's.

"I will meet with the council in ten minutes," he spoke to the Jotun soldier, who was looking Anthony over with a hint of disgust. "Do you wish to continue in my services?" Loki asked sweetly.

The giant jerked his attention back to Loki. "Er... yes, my king."

"Then you will keep your eyes on me, or the floor if you wish to keep them in your _head_."

He nodded sharply and cast his eyes to the floor, murmuring, "My apologies... there was one more thing..."

"Yes?"

"A message from the mage..."

Loki's eyes narrowed as he struggled to keep his face passive. It had been a trying day already, and there was no need to let the soldier know of his concerns. "Why did General Maneir not bring it to be directly?"

The giant looked up, finally meeting Loki's eye in a rare display of courage. "General Maneir is dead, the messaged was carved into his stomach."

Loki's left eye twitched.

_Keep it together, it means nothing. A meaningless death. There have been plenty, and there shall be more._

"... and?"

Anthony's fingers curled tighter around his wrist as the solider shuffled his feet, his eyes once more cast to the floor.

"It said, '**The game has begun, your move**.' "


End file.
